


Bring me some hope by wandering into my mind

by makesometime



Series: AroAceing the Line 2021 [3]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), AroAceing the Line 2021, Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Undressed Zolf Smith, Demisexual Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming), Developing Relationship, Fantasizing, Feelings Realization, HOT ZOLF RIGHTS, M/M, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29693883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: He’s been in Japan for six months. It’s barely stopped raining in that time.He could count the number of dry days on one hand, were he not also busy keeping a tally of the number of times Zolf’s worn a shirt.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: AroAceing the Line 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178975
Comments: 30
Kudos: 64
Collections: AroAceing the Line





	Bring me some hope by wandering into my mind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for AroAceing the Line, February 25th: **Awareness** \- Secrets - Flowers - Purple
> 
> Title from The Anchor by Bastille, again.
> 
> (Wilde is alloromantic and demisexual in this fic. Zolf is asexual and biromantic, but it's not referenced directly, so not tagged for.)

He’s been in Japan for six months. It’s barely stopped raining in that time.

He could count the number of dry days on one hand, were he not also busy keeping a tally of the number of times Zolf’s worn a shirt.

It’s too much. He barely knows how to parse the feelings that having to endure Zolf wandering about the inn like that are inspiring in him.

It’s hardly like he’s unfamiliar with the human form. With appreciating its benefits, understanding its weaknesses. Using his own body as a tool, knowing what others see in him, though never quite managing to feel that way about anyone in return. Sex is good, sex is fun and sex is useful.

But _this_. The feelings he gets from as little as a flash of Zolf’s body walking past his office door…

It’s _hell_ for his concentration.

When he actually manages to get to bed (actually _allows_ himself to go to bed), he can’t sleep until he’s worked himself to orgasm, Zolf’s body in his mind’s eye, the imagined press and give of warm skin making his fingertips tingle and toes curl. It feels _so good_ each time that the guilt isn’t even bothering him anymore.

The first time Zolf comes back bloody and beaten and has to solo quarantine because of a mission Oscar didn’t want to send him on, Oscar realises two things in quick succession:

Not only is he in love with Zolf Smith, he’s in lust with him as well.

It makes a certain sense, he supposes, that those two are now going hand in hand. It certainly _captivates_ him. For seven days he thinks of little else than the burning desire that settles in his gut when he thinks about Zolf, the arousal, the need. The simple pleasure he knows he could get from touching every inch of the dwarf’s skin, the feeling of wanting to get on his knees and stay there until Zolf says otherwise…

Oscar barely makes it through unlocking the doors of the cell before he’s turning tail and running, the bemused expression on Zolf’s face seared into the backs of his eyelids as he sits in his office and forces his body to calm the fuck down.

The next thing he hears is Zolf calling down the hallway that he’s going for a bath and that it’s time for a team dinner once he’s done.

Which of course then coaxes him into fantasies of Zolf in the bath, his hand disappearing under the water, a grunt and the call of _Oscar_ on his lips and...

He clears his throat and looks back at his book, glad at least that Barnes has no telepathy skills (that he knows of). He should have stayed in his office longer. Got rid of all those stupid mental images before spending time with anyone else. But he knows that Zolf would have dragged him out of his office by whatever body part he grabbed first, and he’s still just about capable of denying how enjoyable that would be.

The choice to leave his office does however serve to give Oscar a front row seat to the sight that is Zolf Smith, fresh from the baths, ratty old linen shirt pulled on and only half-buttoned, oil-stained trousers clinging to his thick thighs, as he wanders into the kitchen and starts to get to work.

He can practically _feel_ the catch and pull of Zolf’s chest hair against his fingertips, rather than the small glass of sake that he’s clutching like a lifeline. What he wouldn’t give to kiss up Zolf’s stomach, to suck on the skin of his ribs, to roll Zolf’s nipples between his teeth, to leave bruises along the lines of his collar bones—.

Barnes clears his throat, and Oscar startles, almost upending the drink all over his novel.

“What’s up with you?” Barnes hisses, conscious enough that he should keep his voice down so as not to be heard over the sound of clanging pans.

“So many things James.”

Barnes snorts, reaching out for the bottle of sake and pouring himself another big splash of alcohol. “He’s gonna figure it out.”

“I’m beginning to think that might be better in the long run.” He says, forcing his attention back to the book before he can get too involved in considering how true that is.

“Could just tell ‘im.”

“Tell me what?”

Oscar smiles, putting all of his typical charm behind it. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows. Zolf will roll his eyes and scoff at that look and not take him seriously and so he can get away with saying, “Oh, how desperately I long for you to hold me in your arms, Zolf.”

“Right.” Zolf says, then his lips quirk into a slow smirk that Oscar’s not sure will ever leave his imagination. “After dinner then?”

He splutters, unable to keep up the act after a week of longing and wanting and desperately inappropriate thoughts. Barnes just laughs, looking between the two of them and turning back to his newspaper with a muttered _about fucking time_.

“Yeah. Thought so.” Zolf says, then turns back to the counters, hopping back up onto his little stepstool with unexpected agility. “I’ll see you in your room.”

It’s not even a question. Just a statement.

Oh, he is done for.


End file.
